


not exactly a blaze of glory

by Radio Rascal (Vagrants)



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Execution, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrants/pseuds/Radio%20Rascal
Summary: The day Galvatron died, he didn't say a single word.
Kudos: 10





	not exactly a blaze of glory

**Author's Note:**

> ngl this was cathartic for me to write
> 
> if you have never read my stuff before please understand that i love Galvatron so much but sometimes i just need to do things like this

The hallway leading into the execution chamber was dark by design, so that the light coming from the next room was blinding and created the illusion that one was about to step into a world of pure radiance. It was probably supposed to disorient and frighten prisoners, but many cultures associated walking into a light with entering the afterlife, and either made sense. Whether it was because of his nature or his foreknowledge, Galvatron only found the light cold and repulsive.

He refused to look dazzled as he entered. His optics burned as they adjusted, resolving shapes out of the whiteness. The room was round, and reminded him of a coliseum, with the seats high on the walls. It was packed. In the center of the room was the Judge on its throne, but he couldn’t name the face it was using to look at him, and he didn’t care.

On either side he was flanked by tall Quintessons clutching energy weapons specifically designed to incapacitate mechanoids, but nobody else seemed to be armed; not even the Judge, which was just insulting. Galvatron tested his restraints again and had no luck. It was pitiful, because he definitely could have taken this lot.

They marched him up to the throne, which was taller than him just so he wouldn’t be at eye level or higher than the prestigious Judge. He stared into his own reflection in the chromatic material instead of deigning it with his gaze. His frame was in a sorry shape, in the same state as when they captured him weeks ago, but he supposed it’d been too much for him to hope he’d die any other way.

“Galvatron,” began the Judge in a hoarse, squealing voice, “you have been convicted of high crimes against the Quintesson people and sentenced to death. Today we carry out your sentence so that our world may know justice and have peace from your terror…”

The Quintessons in the crowd continued their quiet, studious observance, but a few shifted with what he guessed was anticipation. Galvatron saw them from the corners of his optics and the reflection in the throne, and he focused on them instead of letting himself react. In truth, he was enraged and he wanted to shriek and throw his fists to fight the indignity of their lie.

Galvatron had been resisting the Quintessons, who were the real criminals. They were trying to once more make the Transformer race their slaves, had already demolished the Decepticons’ home of Chaar, and were encroaching on Cybertron. He and his brothers had been holding a post on an asteroid in Cybertron’s system when they were captured and expedited to New Quintessa. Their trial was nothing more than a cultural trapping the Quintessons used to justify murdering prisoners of war. After all, his death was being publicized; he didn’t know where the cameras were, but he knew this was being recorded, and it had to be palatable to the average citizen of this planet. It had to look good, because for the Quintessons, this was a new holiday.

“Have you anything to say?”

He looked up at the Judge’s face. It wanted him to throw a tantrum and make good television. Truthfully, he wanted to do  _ something _ . He wanted to find the camera and stare it in its unfeeling glass eye and talk. He wanted to immortalize himself with a speech and he wanted the Quintessons to let him do it. There was no hope of escape, but if he could make them feel stupid, if he could take some of the power away and make them feel stupid even while they cleaned up his corpse, he’d feel like he won.

He also knew, if he used his vocalizer, he would start crying. Even worse, he feared he would beg. It was better to stay silent, to be petty and defiant in a safe way. If he couldn’t do what he wanted, he could at least refuse to give them what they wanted.

Optimus could have given a speech to shake this world to its core, and Galvatron supposed he aspired to be like that. It was fine. He knew he couldn’t be Optimus, and he also knew there were plenty of people out there who would eulogize him. Soon, Optimus would be here anyway; he’d heard from the guards that the Autobots were on their way here. At least Cyclonus, Scourge, and the other Decepticon prisoners would live.

The Judge huffed and straightened its posture. “Very well. Bring out the instrument.”

Galvatron resisted the urge to look. Out of sight somewhere, a door hissed open and something rolled towards him. They’d gotten smarter about killing Transformers, and wouldn’t dare leave Galvatron in a pit with opponents he could defeat, so they built a device instead.

Once it was positioned behind him, his guards used the butts of their weapons to shove him into the seat. Now his processor began to disengage from his surroundings, with a familiar static building behind his optics. For a few microseconds he was certain this was a dream and he would soon wake and everything would be fine. The last six months hadn’t even happened. Decepticons lived on Chaar and had an uncertain but hopeful ceasefire with the Autobots.

Then he accepted all over again that he was truly about to die, and his thoughts went swirling again. A Quintesson fitted the belt over his head that would fry his processor with electricity, while another swung a contraption around his chest that could punch straight through a combiner’s chest and out through their back. This was the thing that would kill him. He had a few seconds left, and a million thoughts went through his mind during that time.

Everything competed for the honor of being his final thought. Unicron his infernal creator—Cyclonus and Scourge waiting their turn after him—Rodimus Prime his first enemy who regrettably never became his friend and Galvatron realized for the first and last time he did regret it—Optimus Prime flying here as fast as he could too late for Galvatron but he would save the others and always feel like he failed—First Aid who gave Galvatron the tools and the kindness he needed to live with his condition—Chaar his lovely and horrible planet, ruined for a second time but not dead just sleeping—all the things he loved about Earth he wished he could experience again like chocolate and gasoline and rain—knowing he got angry too often—knowing he didn’t love people enough—and his dearest only son Riot sheltering on Cybertron and who would soon receive the news that he was the prince without a throne and the prince who had no choice but to ascend and the prince of the new era.

So many little moments had led him to this place and now he stared them down, taking stock of them and holding them close. Two seconds before the machine was activated, his thoughts circled back to Unicron, and something struck him as funny. One second before the machine was activated, he opened his mouth and laughed, loud and shrill and unhinged. For the last time and forever he was fully himself, unexpected and discomforting and inexplicable; he reveled in it, reveled in the shocked confusion in the Quintessons’ expressions, reveled in his private thoughts that nobody would ever know.

They were killing him! He was too much of a problem to be their slave, so they were setting him free! Of course this was how he wanted to die— _ without a master _ ! He was dying filled with pride and  _ nobody could ever take that away from him _ .

Something punched him in the chest and a dull buzz filled his head as everything went grey.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading


End file.
